Most of reality is unnamed.
Consider the lack of names for various and odd spaces. A balbis is an H shaped thing, but what is a simple, one-word name for an empty space between a bed and a dresser? We see such a space often, but we have no name for it. A squircle is a combined square and circle, the shape of iPhone apps, but what do we call the space between two tree trunks?
Some languages do better than others at getting at unnamed stuff. In German, the excess weight gained due to emotional overeating is called kummerspeck, literally, “grief bacon.” But what do we call the last bite of a delicious food that tempts us to have one more bite?
The Japanese note a difference between what one must claim to think and feel in order to fit in with society, and what one privately thinks and feels. They call this tatemae and honne. But what do we call the thoughts we borrow from others and then mingle with our own tangential thoughts to produce something neither ours nor theirs?
The Scotts call the moment of panic when you are introducing someone and realise you’ve forgotten their name a tartle. But what do we call that moment of panic when we call them by their name and then realize we have gotten it wrong?
It may be argued that the realities we don’t name we don’t discriminate from other realities. Generalizations gloss over nuances and leave them hidden. Space is an inadequate word for the area between our fingers, and because we don’t have a common name for this, and because we don’t talk about this space much, we may actually see it without really seeing it.
Life is filled with this kind of seeing what we don’t see, seeing background, seeing empty space between objects, seeing pieces of things not noted by the name we have for their whole.
What is the word for the space inside the fold of a fabric? This is such a beautiful space, so common, so lovely in a Vermeer, so delicate on a sleeve, so gorgeous in a curtain in a breeze-blown window.
I love the unnamed spaces of life with a love that I can’t name or define. The space under an umbrella — it has a safe, fun, social, protected feel to it. The space within a cat’s fur — it has a soft, dense, silky, warm feel. The space between two people when they are having a good talk — it has a close, combined, focused, secure feel.
Perhaps, to be less bored, to be more aware, to see more beauty, we should go looking for what’s unnamed.
What’s in a nameless thing? A nameless flower by no name still smells as sweet,or does it?
Everyday, in every moment, there is a possible adventure, the essence of so many unnamed realities waiting to be discovered, both spiritual and physical, emotional and social waiting to be noticed, waiting for us to softly and reverently enter in to — and name.
Thrive! 